


Fire That's Closest Kept (burns most of all)

by StarryKitty013



Series: Sibling Beta Test [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe, Babs is a badass, Ballet, Computer Hacking, Core 4 mention, Dick is kinda a meanie, Duke and Tim are tech bros, Duke is baby, Family Bonding, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Repressed Emotions, Russian Tim Drake, Scars, Sibling Rivalry, Spy Networks, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake-centric, Timmy is a smart birb, Weapon building, batfam, cass is best sister, so is alfred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:21:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23370874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryKitty013/pseuds/StarryKitty013
Summary: Tim doesn't remember how it started or how he does it. He just knows it means he's not following Janet's standards anymore.
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake & Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake & Batfam, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Duke Thomas, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: Sibling Beta Test [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692163
Comments: 54
Kudos: 731





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SO this is an AU. I've kinda been developing snippets of it but here's like a very small part of it, I dunno. Will prob edit more later ( I just got tired and bored sooo yeah.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I edited them!! I added some stuff that partains to the universe, but it still is a stand alone :)  
> This can also act as sort of a loose timeline for the series, I suppose.
> 
> Enjoy!!

  
  


  
  


His ancestry was odd.

His father has been a business man through and through. He had a standard that Tim found easy to live up to. Well in comparison to his partner (because mother was  _ nobody’s _ wife) anyone's standards were easier to accomplish than Janet Drake’s unattainable standards.

It’s why Jack had left.

His mother was a manipulator of souls. A solid unbreakable being who looked like Aphrodite with the wisdom of Athena and the cunning of Hera. He made Greek god analogies because most people didn’t know that she had the ancestry of Hephaestus. Not the actual god, they were all still human, but there was no modern way to explain their families origins. At her core, she was carrying that very same will. To make things of nothing, fix the unfixable. It’s where she stemmed from.

It was where her ambition was formed, not by metal but by power.

It’s why she had the company and  _ he _ didn’t _. _

So even if she was a ruthless business woman and a cold hearted mother with twisted ideals and teachings, had networks upon network and connections because of her time as a KGB operative, she couldn’t quite hide the fact that her family was still blacksmiths and wasn’t  _ that _ odd. When he thought of his mother he didn’t imagine soot on her face or burns on her hands, sure he saw the white lines of where she used to learn as a kid but his mother was a poised, glimmering, disarming woman. Dangerous in her words and manipulation, years of forging her ambition into a weapon. Words as harmful as a bullet. Lies as sharp as daggers.

But of course, they couldn’t just be any old blacksmiths, no. They had to be the best because Janet Drake never half asses anything, even when being dismissive of it. And neither did her son - except he didn’t really dismiss anything. Their family stopped forging weapons at the end of World War Two but the teachings still went on even if they did die out. The interest slipped Janet's genes but not Tims. 

Unfortunately he didn’t dare ask his mother to teach him to create weapons, but in a way she had. Using words instead of metal, phrasing instead of fire. 

It worked just as effectively as a sword. 

When he went to Russia for breaks and such he’d see his late grandfather's old blacksmith forge. His mother would send him there and leave for her trips or assignments again when Jack left her and he was still too young to be an operative, his grandmother barely approved of her methods of parenting but wasn’t voicing it as often as he thought she’d like . He was five years old when his old grandmother had once come to him in the middle of the night with a mischievous grin and a small apron that was just his size and Tim had felt for the first time since that night at the circus, his heart swell with excitement and joy. 

_ “One day,” _ she said as he was hammering the sword into a flat end like how she had showed him.  _ “You will have an Arsenal if weapons just like your mother and grandfather.” _

_ “What did he use them for?”  _ Tim had asked because he knew what his mothers Arsenal consisted of. He knew what she used it for. Her words, her phrasing, her connections, her networks. They ran deeper than any other ones he knew of, or even existed. 

Janet Drake didn’t half ass anything.

_ “He used them to raise his family.” _ She smiled sadly.

It took Tim three days to make his first sword and Janet came back for her child a day after it was created. He didn’t show his mother what he had made, because it was the equivalent to showing a crude art project he pasted together in class, and his mother never appreciated that. So while the sword was kept in Russia with his grandmother. 

_ “Don’t make weapons with no purpose, Timothy.”  _ His grandmother had whispered to him concluding one of the happiest memories of his childhood as she sent him off to the dreary streets of Gotham (not that Russia was much better, it was still grey but the cold kind of grey and not the polluted kind).

That was the last thing she had said to him, and the next time he saw his grandmother and the sword they were both put into the ground. 

The forge being torn down and all the tools ending up arranged in their basement, forever forgotten. With the relics that were valuable but not nearly as priceless as Janet needed them to be.

Janet didn’t shed a tear. Tim took after her, not feeling anything because nothing really happened. He felt lonely but that’s always been there, always present and constant.

Tim never went to the basement. 

Until he met the Bats.

OoOoO 

Tim’s time as Robin started with cold gestures and even colder shoulders. 

Biting words, rough hands and a ghost of someone who had too big shoes to fill for Tim alone. 

For once in his life he hadn’t  _ been _ alone but he felt lonelier than ever. He felt more unwanted at the manor than anywhere else because instead of implying it like his parents, he was told it under all the harsh reprimands and being sent away. 

Except by Alfred.

Alfred never sent him away. 

Tim had just come in from patrol and Batman had dismissed him to go home. He watched the man's back for a bit, waiting for an offer that he knew would never come. Lethargy hung on his small frame as he felt the tiredness of everything that had happened in the last week that he couldn’t remember right now. He wanted food and sleep and dreaded the twenty minute walk home in the quiet dark alone.

He passed the kitchen to the front door and was stopped by a voice calling out:

“Master Timothy?” The old British voice sounded inquisitive and Tim swallowed. Had he been so careless as to not watch his steps? Too tired to not stomp down the hallway how rude, his mother would have his head if she knew.  _ But she wouldn’t. _

“Yes, Mr.Pennyworth?” He said shyly peaking his head over the corner to find the butler with an eyebrow raised and a mug of something that smelled the delicious, sticky sweet scent of cocoa powder and sugar. He’d heard the rumors of Alfred hot chocolate from the gods but he would never dare to ask for a cup. “I’m so sorry to disturb you. I hadn’t realized I was being loud.” 

“Never my dear boy.” Something softened in Alfreds worn expressions “I simply have learned the ways of sneaking children, although I might say you’ve proved to be the most challenging to catch.” Alfred has a ghost of a smug smirk on his lips and Tim can’t help but smile a bit at the odd praise. But soon he schooled his expression and shifted nervously, stepping more into the leaking light of the kitchen. 

“Is there something you needed?” He asked quietly and didn’t look at Alfreds eyes. Tim has been told that his eyes have always been a bit unnerving and off putting when he stared at someone too long. And while his mother has approved of this skill she installed into her child, it made it hard to make friends when he couldn’t look at someone without making them uncomfortable - or analyzing them. He didn’t like the thought of Alfred shunning him cause of his intense stare too.

“It is currently an ungodly hour, I do hope you didn’t expect me to send you out alone.” Alfred almost sounded offended as the 12 year old eyes widened minutely at the ground and he dared to look up to see an expression of professionalism and seriousness. 

“I...it’s okay. It’s a short walk and I-“ he was cut off by a small growl emoting from his stomach and a blush rising on his cheeks. He wanted to just disappear, because that was really embarrassing. He wasn’t even  _ that _ hungry. Alfred's posture looked bemused and he gestured, just  _ gestured _ , and Tim knew he had no choice but to sit down and eat what Alfred had apparently put out for  _ him _ .

And the Hot chocolate was as amazing as they said, but then again the comparison Tim was going off of was Swiss Miss packages that he snuck into the budget for his food expenses. His mother has strict rules about times to eat which she was never around long enough to install thoroughly.

“Thank you, Mr.Pennyworth.” He whispered at the drained mug and Alfred took his plate and mug. He felt sleepy now, being nicely full and oddly warm. He liked the feeling. 

“Please sir, call me Alfred.” He requested and Tim smiled at him a bit tiredly and nodded, slipping off the chair to head back home. In the cold. He shivered a little at the thought. “Would you like to stay the night, young sir?” Asked the butler and Tim looked at him with wary eyes that hoped didn’t show too much longing because-

“I don’t think Mr.Wayne would appreciate that.” He said softly, looking to the ground as to not show that he felt hurt by that fact. This was a job, he knows that. The whole point of him being here was to get Batman on track and  _ not _ be a son but a  _ partner  _ and nothing more, someone Bruce could lose and not be too broken up about it. Alfred almost looked heartbroken as he came around the counter and kneeled down and what was he-

Tim was suddenly in an embrace, and couldn’t help his stock stillness. Shocked as Alfred spoke quietly.

“He will come around Master Timothy. Eventually, When he sees how he’s breaking you.” He murmured into Tims messy fluffy hair “ I just pray, should he realize, that it won’t be too late.” He doesn’t think he’s meant to hear that but he thinks Alfred wants him to.

“It’s okay Alfred, I can take a little more breaking.” He said almost as quietly “I’ll hold out, don’t worry about me.” He said and gently pushed his face into the man's shoulder, taking the comfort for what he could get. “And call me Tim please.” He mumbled but he didn’t think Alfred quite heard. But the man chuckled sadly.

“Very good, Master Tim.” He amended the name and broke contact at just the right time so Tim wasn’t overwhelmed or awkward. “I shall accompany you home.” 

And he did.

OoO

It took Tim two days to start, because he uncovered the forging tools in the basement, kept with other relics. Starting the fire and making sure the filter system still worked so he didn’t cause smoke to build up and suffocate or burn down the house. 

Of course his mother thought these were useless artifacts that had no worth, she would notice if it was just a tad hotter when she returned if Tim played his cards right. Maybe she wouldn’t even notice or care.

He didn’t care much of her opinion (a recurring theme recently) as he created the mold of clay that would break after one use.  _ One of a kind _ . 

He melted down the metal as his grandmother had taught him all those years ago, recalling fuzzy memories of the basic steps into creating a weapon. Installations and modern twists were all stemming from the basics of the process, he knew that.

As he installed a heat source wire that was programmed to raise the temperature of the blade to make it easier to cut through metal. The engravings on the hilt were simple but elegant. It was light and thin and small and perfectly balanced. Could go unnoticed on certain parts of the body. 

He installed the modern tech manually, earning a burn along the side of his left pointer for his trouble, but he hadn’t much cared for the scar, too enthralled in his work.

Tim knew ten different ways he’d use this particular weapon. But in his sleep deprived mind he just came out of the basement from hell, not even noticing it was two days later and he’d missed multiple texts from both Alfred and Bruce. Even one from Dick. He had soot smeared across his face and his clothes hung off of him messily as he beelined toward the manor, using his entry code and not even noticing it was Monday and he hadn’t completed any of his homework, nor was he even at school as he should have been because it was midday. 

Bruce was on the dining table, reading when he passed in, and noticed him halfway to Alfred, who was behind the counter washing dishes with a washcloth, and he loudly folded his paper to get Tims attention but it didn’t work. Neither did the glare he burned at being ignored.

“Tim-“ he cut himself off as Tim climbed on top of the bar stool and slid the cloth with his creation across to Alfred, who looked at him in interest and mild concern. Probably his appearance. 

“Девичья фамилия моей мамы Вольтов.” He slurred, his normally hidden accent heavy in his exhaustion, and passed out on top of the counter. He knew Alfred would know what it meant. He fought in that war right? Though his mother family wasn’t really known to those who didn’t know just how powerful they could be. Blacksmiths made weapons but information was also a weapon, and a defense. They had learned this early on, making them a pivotal aspect of networks and connections that slowly died with lack of war and lack of practice from the new generations but they never burnt out completely. 

He didn’t see Alfred slowly uncover the beautiful blade nor the way it glowed a gentle warm orange tint on the hilt at being held by its curated owner for the first time nor the nearly invisible tear that slid down his wrinkled face when he saw the raw red hands and crudely bandages fingers of the child so exhausted he had collapsed. He didn’t hear Bruce come over to inspect the blade from over the old butlers shoulder or how the man came around to pick the child up and take him to the plush couches to sleep. He didn’t feel the blanket gently draped over him or the quiet murmurs and promises of being better.

**_Lonely until he found embrace_ ** **.**

OoOoO 

Despite everything, the first member of the Batfamily he considered a sibling was Barbra Gordon.

Even knowing her as Oracle, to which is a fitting name and one he had gently suggested when he first started as Robin. But before he was skulking in the shadows, bugging Jim Gordon and messing with him by solving his cases before the man could even know they were cases, he had never met Barbra in person. She had been the first to fully accept him into their small crime fighting syndicate - instead of turning him away or being indifferent she just accepted the assignment to teach him about the systems he already half knew because he had hacked them before (he had told her such and then they started to go back and forth on all the ways the Bat’s system could be hack, beefing up the programs in the process, and she had been pleasantly impressed). He told her that she didn’t need to exactly fight crime directly to help. He had been doing it for years.

They had switched roles now, she was now the information broker and he was the one in a costume physically fighting against all odds. And she was the first to train him - like  _ really _ train him. Taking her eskrima sticks and still being able to kick his ass in a wheelchair was embarrassing especially when he had shown her some hacking tricks and was better than him within the week so he had nothing he was better than her at (even if he was younger he still felt a little out of place, especially being in the spotlight instead of the shadows).

But whatever, this was  _ Barbra Gordon, _ of course she’d be better than him. She was a certifiable genius. Her dad bragged about her for a reason. SHe was unstoppable, even if she couldn’t walk. No one could drag her down. She didn’t give up, she didn’t quit and that’s why Tim admired her.

But even with her intellect she still couldn’t move without help. She was still disabled. Still couldn’t walk. No one could change that fact. No matter how much problem solving or calculating, the risks were too high to even try to have her move again. 

And sometimes she got frustrated.

“Can I vent to you for a minute?” She said during their impromptu weekly hacking/information giving sessions. Because even if she was better with technical hacking, Tim still has resources that not even Batman could access and it was good for Babs to have it in her database. He still maintains the secret of his connections run deep in Janet's vast network which by default is his to continue to build and maintain when she is gone, but for now he can delve carefully into the less used parts of it. He just had to be careful, so his mom couldn’t catch on (she was the hardest person in the world to lie to. Batman was a piece of cake compared to his mother.)

“Shoot.” He said because Babs never gets frustrated easily. With the work she does it’s bound to get irritating and she has the patience of a saint. They were venting buddies, didn’t judge or impart advise, unless asked, and sometimes that’s all they needed. Sometimes they needed an outside perspective. 

“Dick is an asshole.” She says and sighed “I mean yes, I know he’s your brother and stuff but like-“

“No, he can be an asshole.” He interrupts offhandedly, sharpening the batarang - it’s no knife but it’ll do. His self proclaimed brother could be overly dramatic and protective. It had taken Dick some time to come around and get the main part of mourning Jason out of the way and the shock of him being replaced so soon out of his system, but by the time he did Tim was showered in hugs and affection. Babs stops for a second and he smiles sheepishly up at her “sorry, continue.” She snorts.

“Right?!” She asked rhetorically “like I know he’s just trying to protect me, but he’s just seeming like an unsupportive asshole at this point. I mean he wouldn’t even train you and I have been, he’s not even in Gotham and like he keeps saying I should slow down and take it easy and ugh, I just wanna punch him because I’m not helpless.” Babs growls and Tim cocks his head.

“This about your fight on Wednesday?” Tim asked innocently, and Babs looked him with a deadpanned expression “He was sulking. Said you yelled at him randomly.” he shrugged and Babs made an irritated noise.

“Not  _ randomly _ ! Ugh, he was saying that I should slow down, that I was still in recovery. It’s been 9 months, I’m fine and the database is almost finished. He keeps saying that I’m doing enough, that I should stop. Like  _ stop  _ stop. Like that’s even an option.” she ranted “It’s like he doesn’t want to be one uped by a  _ girl _ in a  _ wheelchair _ . I have half a mind to kick his ass into next Friday.” Tim raised a brow and Babs breathed “I don’t believe that, he respects women and disabled people too much to think like that but I just don’t like him thinking that these are so extraordinary for me. Like me being helpful was a surprise. That I’d roll over so easy.” she sighed and looked at him with a critical eye “How do you make a point without saying anything. It’s creepy.”

“Gotta be good at something.” he shrugged, cleaning the batarang “ And you’re helpful, someone behind a screen like me. I guess I’m kinda desensitized, you’re just doing everything I was doing but like with better tech.” he gestured to her computer set up, he had only had a laptop and his stuffed cat, Stormy. 

“But it’s not dangerous as he’s making it out to be.” Babs said and he made a so-so noise.

“I didn’t get killed and I went into darker parts of the city than you do, still have more sketchy informants too.” He said and looked up “you’re not helpless just because you don’t put yourself in danger, Babs. You could probably network my connections better than me to be honest. I don’t really instill intimidation, not like you can.” he smiled.

“Woah, okay that is a.) oddly terrifying and sweet at the same time and b.) such a fucking honor because  _ dude _ your connections are like  _ insane _ .” Babs said and Tim couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.

He ducked his head and murmured “Thanks.” 

“Seriously, though Dick doesn’t take me seriously anymore I don’t think he ever really did.” She sighs and taps on the arm of her wheelchair.

“I don’t see that as a bad thing.” Tim said conversationally and leans back on his palms and looks at the ceiling “B doesn’t take me seriously either.”

“And pray tell how that’s a good thing?” Babs said in a flat tone. Tim grinned wickedly at her. 

“Because if not even Batman can take me seriously, the rogues don’t either. And if they don’t think of me as a threat…” he let his sentence slip off as Babs had the meaning dawn on her and an unholy grin slowly grew on her face.

“Badass kid.” She said, impressed “truly wicked.” He snickered.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” He said quietly.

“I’m fucking using this.”

OoO

He didn't know how he got in his basement again but when he did the fire had already melted the metal and he had fifty five seconds to figure out what he was making. 

It took him thirty four. And he was taking the grey semi moldable clay and imprinting the structure firmly and pouring the metal casting instead of stone. He had to break this one by hand, but he was making an inviolable structure.  _ Strong _ .

Taking a smaller mild one only about five inches with a three inch gap between the baton as a holder. Renewable energy discharges and unbreakable glass casing were created and melted as he waited for the metal to cool on its own, attaching patches to the bottom to connect to a usb charging source that Tim knew to be in Babs wheelchair and in her computer - so she could keep it close most of the time, she wouldn’t have a reason to leave it behind. 

Cylindrical spacing, retractable access that is velocity sensitive. Electric discharge patches lining every joint, make a .0034 millimeter gap. Five sections, cascading, becoming half a millimeter smaller the more it goes up. Adjustable height, and electrical impasse so reach is not awkward and just right. He burnt the space between us fingers and palm in his right hand grabbing a metal that wasn’t as cool as he thought but he was on hour 28 at that point. 

He welded the grip to the handle and quickly wrapped the barley cooled weapon in cloth. Then was off to Bab’s apartment and base of operation. 

He silently broke into her window while she was scouting information for a case Bats had her working on and didn’t mean to sneak up on her but he gently placed the clothed weapon next to her and her reflexes took over as batted him with an escrima stick. He grunted.

“Oh, gods! Tim!” He heard her say as he stumbled back and crashed onto her couch to look dazedly at the ceiling before finally falling asleep, not even as she came over to check if he was okay.

He didn’t realize that she hadn’t even looked at the weapon until he was comfortably on the couch and a wool blanket over him. She was about to call Dick or Bruce to ask him what happened and what fight the kid had gotten in to get so ash ridden and disheveled and lead him to sneaking in through a security system that could possibly kill him half asleep but then she saw the clothed baton on her desk. The deep purple glow of the ends lighting up for the first time and humming with power as she held it. The awe on her face as the light highlighted her overtired features like a computer screen in the dark, and the small, fond smile that stretched across her lips.

“We really underestimate you don’t we, little dragon?” She mumbled to Tim as she ran a hand through his ash ridden hair, he mumbled something in Russian but it was gentle and quiet. 

Just like Tim.

**_Disguise his strength with helplessness._ **

OoOoO

Cassandra came into the manor and stayed there. 

Tim was still sent home but not nearly as often and if he was honest he was not only a little envious of Cass but also a bit terrified of her too. Okay scratch that a lot terrified. 

She was an assassin, like Bruce had brought home an  _ assassin  _ and let her sleep in the same house but Tim had to still be sent home to his silence and solitude and  _ loneliness _ . HIs mother took more missions, and his father had cut them out of his life completely by now (but they still knew where he was, they were KGB after all..well  _ ex-KGB _ ).

That didn’t mean she wasn’t his first friend. Like _ his age _ .

They didn’t talk, they never had. She was Orphan and he was Robin. They never went on missions together but she’d be skulking in the shadows on his patrols, monitoring his training from the darkness and when he was away she’d take up patrolling with Batman. 

She had to be told not to kill, but only reminded and even those were dwindling. 

She was so _ perfect. _ Dick said on numerous occasions how she was the perfect little sister. Alfred always said what delight Cassandra was to have and even Bruce smiled more around her and it took  _ months _ for Tim to even get a look sent his way.

But even Tim could not be mad at her or take it out at her (he never could muster up the will power to be as heartless as his mother). Tim made all his efforts into not making mistakes and she put forth effort to be perfect. It was different in a way Tim and her could only understand. 

She watched him be hit to the ground by Bruce again, and the breath knocked out of him. 

“Again.” He growled. So he was in one of those moods again, the thirteen year old struggled up. He could dodge easily, spinning around Bruce’s hits but as soon as he went in for the strike Bruce got a shot in, he hesitated “Your fighting is sloppy, use the defense maneuvers  _ I  _ showed you to line up your attack. You need to  _ attack _ .” But he wasn’t good at attacking. He was good at finding a way out, a solution. 

He needed to  _ think.  _

Because Tim couldn’t attack without thinking, not like Dick could instinctually or Jason could habitually. Or Cassandra could on command. Damn, this was so i _ rritating _ . He wasn’t them, he was Tim. Tim with his hide in the shadows and spectate, learn, observe,  _ never engage _ . A habit instilled in him for years and now suddenly he has to change it up. Now he has to not only fight back but initiate the first strike.

He got slammed to the ground again and Bruce looked down at him scathingly. He didn’t meet the gaze.

“You are unfocused. We are done.” He said it with finality that the first few times Tim thought he meant permanently, but now he just knew that Bruce couldn’t get rid of him. Now it just meant he had to go home.

He looked up at the cave ceiling wanting to slam his fist in the floor, this was so frustrating. How could he have a year of training and still be the weakest even with a new addition to the crime fighting circuit? One that couldn’t even speak English well (that wasn’t fair but it was in mind and no one could see into his mind). 

He didn’t even acknowledge the girl who now sat barley out of the shadows at the end of the mat blinking curiously at him. Tim sat up and glared at the ground between his legs.

_ How could she be so perfect and he not even know how to punch right? _

“Envy.” She said and Tim straightened. Was she talking about her or him? But how could she possibly know? Sure, Tim couldn’t kick as well as her, but the one thing he had going for him was his manipulations of not only anyone around him’s emotions but his. He never let anything slide, it was like apart of who he was. He had to think to show his true feelings, that lesson was ingrained into him since birth.

“Me?” He asked, if the mono word thing was a recurring theme than who cared. Cass hadn’t talked much but even less so to him and the first thing she had said was ‘Envy’ because of course she knew. He thought he was better at hiding it.

“Both.” She gestured between the two of them. And Tim has to stop and think about what’s that actually meant for a second. 

“How could you possibly be envious of me?” He didn’t mean to say it out loud. Clamped his mouth shut and Cass hummed.

“I...attack...you...defend.” She said in broken English “natural. Never... switch.”

“ I defend and you attack instinctually but not the other way around?” Tim translated with relative ease, he knew languages from at least 17 different countries and some of them were multilingual. she paused, looking mildly surprised and intrigued before nodding.

“You... think..me.” She said and looked put out for a second because she knew it was incorrect.

“Understand.” He supplied.

“ _ Yes _ .” She said happily “you  _ understand _ me.” She said proudly and Tim couldn’t help but smile with a bit of pride.

“Doesn’t solve our predicament.” He mumbled to himself. Even if he thought there was more of a problem on his end than hers. 

“You… not fight.” She said “move.. different.” She told him and even if she just praised him for understanding her he couldn’t figure out what she meant. She stood up and twirled and... _ oh. _

“Dancing.” He told her. ZShe cocked her head in confusion “It’s called dancing. People do it for recreational activity. It’s...fun.” He didn’t think dancing was fun so much as it was a way to hone his balance. It was a relief. Familiar. 

“Teach me.” She said more than asked and pulled him up “dance, teach me.” He couldn’t exactly say  _ no _ , the girl hadn’t even heard of it before now. That was kind of sad, because he couldn’t imagine his life without dancing (as weird as it sounded, it’s always been with him). A skill no one could take away.

“You can find videos online.” Tim mumbled with a blush. He never danced  _ for _ anybody, never in front of anybody but his instructor that he hadn’t seen since he was ten.

“No.” Cass insisted and squeezed his hands a little more “you.” 

He sighed and looked to where Bruce had left the cave, it was sound proof. He took his phone out and started to play up music. 

“There are different types of Dance.” He started looking up his first ballad “but I learned Ballet first. I don’t know any other types.” He said and hovered over the play button looking longing at the sounds that were about to play and unlock his childhood again. He didn’t know why he was so afraid of a song. 

Cass let him take his time, holding his upper arm in support. 

He smiled at her and hit the play button.

OoO

He locked himself up for three days in his manor. He didn’t even plan it, but he didn’t plan the last one either. 

He just found himself in his dark basement where the only light was the fire and melted lava he poured into the crumbling molds he created.  _ Unique. _

A mid length sword, sharpened obviously, Cass knew how to not kill. She didn’t want to kill, but Tim knew she needed the option for her own piece of mind (maybe a little for Tims too). She needed her roots just as Tim needed his. Because he would rather Cass kill and be alive than end up dead trying to prove she’s something she’s not - she’s not perfect and it’s what makes her  _ beautiful _ . He didn’t like thinking like that though - thinking Cass would give her life over her morals.

Graphean and glass, 1:2 ratio, .3 millimeters on the blade, barely visible on the horizon; two inches in width, can be seen from an angle, but just a glint- an invisible blade. Razor wire device on a rotational scale of .000019%, installed on a tangible holoboard. The tips of the middle three fingers got sliced and burned as he placed it in the lava of the sword.

Unbreakable, but even so made of glass.

As it cooled, he sewed a black leather sheath he’d specifically tailored for this blade, straps adjustable and removable so it fit into her Orphan gear. Light and easy to move with for all her acrobatics.

He wandered into the manor this time, clutching the sheath strap in a white knuckled grip. 

Right before patrol, he passed Bruce quickly - who was also on his way to the cave - not even greeting him as he made a beeline for the grandfather clock and down the steps, dully aware Bruce was trailing him slowly, keeping his eyes trained on the boy. Tim’s hollow eyes zeroed in on the dark corner that hid Cassandra, who stepped into the light upon being summoned with his gaze, to look worriedly at him and stepped forward as he took the strap off and sort of held it out as he fell down and he was caught by her awaiting arms as his mind went blank. 

He came to on the springy cot in the medbay, his hands rebandaged by Alfred’s handiwork but Cass was next to him. He looked over at his sister, tears flowing silently down her pale cheeks as she ran her fingers gently across the transparent greyish white blade that glittered an elegant white as she ran a finger across the edge. Thread like trails of blood on her finger from the clean cut, but she didn’t seem to mind as they would clot in minutes.

“Brother.” She whispered as Tim closed his eyes again into a dreamless but content sleep.

**_His envy replaced by understanding._ **

OoOoO 

Dick had warmed up to him nine months after Tim had first come as Robin.

That didn’t mean their relationship was amazing from then on, in fact it was quite distrustful - more so on Tims part than Dick’s. Dick had attempted to grab and hug and cuddle with him, and Tim dodged him at first but he just pouted or sulked or tried again. He’d try to spend time with him like outside of patrol and always steer the topic back to something unrelated to work when Tim managed to find a professional outlook. He’d try to  _ talk _ to him about anything and listen to him, prompting his opinion on trivial matters such as Star Wars or Star Trek (Star Wars obviously was the superior unlessly elaborate pop culture endeavor). 

Tim didn’t  _ get it _ .

He didn’t get why Dick stopped patrol half way through to get Tim an ice cream cone for no reason. He didn’t understand why Dick cooed at him and praised every time he solved a seemingly difficult case or got a move down right or just randomly giving him compliments on patrol for his fighting style. Criticism, he could understand. Advice was acceptable too. But compliments? They were unnecessary and unarming, something he couldn't afford to be on the field. 

He thought it was a trap, then a test, then a joke.

Then he thought it was Dick making up things to Jason through Tim and Tims heart kinda broke at the thought, enough so to almost make him go back down to his basement and make something,  _ anything _ aimlessly.  _ Almost _ . (having emotions towards that particular subject was inappropriate. SO what if he had been Robin for over half a year, this was still first and foremost a  _ job _ .)

Before he finally realized what it  _ really  _ was.

“Timmy.” Dick whined as he grabbed the big chair in front of the main batcomputer, where Tim was sitting cross legged in finishing a case. “Pay attention to me!” He climbs to his brother as Tim types out the last line and saves the file.

“Dick…” he wanted to say get off but as Dick glomped him he couldn’t bring himself to, especially with the older man’s grip. He may have filled out a bit since his training, but it was all wiry muscle meant for endurance and flexibility, not strength. So Dick had no problem leaning over the arm of the chair to just hug him, burying his face into his hair as Tim sat there indifferently. He doesn’t know how to respond to Dick’s hugs, they were random and unpredictable and he didn’t know why he got them in the first place (he didn’t really get hugs in general to begin with). So usually Tim would respond the same way he would with a boa constrictor - don’t move so he won’t tighten and suffocate you.

He sighed wondering what to do as his brother just held him when he spotted his gaming device out of the corner of his eye. His red DS that, after 9 months, he felt comfortable enough in the bat cave to play when he had some down time. He had just bought pokemon Black and was kind of obsessed with playing it every chance he got, which was usually between classes, during lectures, waiting on patrols (he had to be sneaky around Bruce), and during witching hours when he was supposed to be sleeping. He grabbed it and opened the game. 

He played the simulation for a bit before he noticed Dick looking over his shoulder in awe. He quirked a brow at his brother. It was just Pokemon, no one needed any special skills to play it. Fire beats Grass beats Water beats Fire. It was literally a children’s game. An addicting children’s game, that was one of the only semblances of a normal childhood that he had, but still a game. There was nothing to be impressed by.

“Is that...a  _ game _ ?” Dick asked in slight disbelief. Tim was torn between wanting to laugh, be offended, or be embarrassed.

“Pokémon.” He said monotonously, turning his attention back to his game pointedly. He expected a laugh or a hair ruffle, even a reprimand or some other form of dismissal. It wasn’t a big deal. In one swift motion Dick had made a decision and lifted Tim - with ease that irritated him - sat down in his spot and placed Tim on his lap, still in a crisscross. 

“Show me.” He said before Tim could protest new seating arrangements. The interest shocked Tim so much he closed it off.

“Why do you want to know?” Tim asked suspiciously, twisting so he could narrow his eyes up at the older man “It’s just a stupid game. Kids play it all the time.”

“But you  _ never _ play stupid games or do normal kid stuff, Timmy. You’re always so serious. This is a new look for you.” Dick said and Tim was about to tell him that no, he was silly and stupid all the time. With Ives before he had to go to that special hospital for cancer recovery upstate, they used to watch stupid movies in class, forget that they never hung out after school. He watched vine compilations when he was doing homework sometimes, and when he couldn’t sleep or needed something to distract him after patrol when he went back to his empty silent manor. Or play pokemon or animal crossing in between hours of the day when he wasn’t working. Skateboarding in the space between school and patrol, when he found the time, trying to do tricks he found on the internet. 

But… Dick didn’t know any of that. Bruce, Alfred, Barbra, and him all only saw the side of Tim that was professional and serious. He couldn’t afford to look childish, because if he was a child then he’d need taking care of, and the whole point of him being here was because he could take care of himself. He may have been a child legally, but mentally? He promised he wouldn’t be. To Bruce. To Alfred. To his  _ mother _ . Being a child simply was a waste of time when he already knew how to be an adult.

“Oh...uhm.” Tim said after a second, and turning back to his game with a blush as Dick watched intently “it’s simple really you go around catching Pokémon and then battle other people with them.”

“That’s animal abuse Timmy!” Dick said aghast and Tim deadpanned.

“Yeah but you get to heal them and bond with them. And it’s just a game.” He said “you win when you finish the story line and catch them all to fill your Pokédex.” He said and gave Dick the device, “wanna try?” he asked, and he dully wondered if Dick had ever played a hand held game. Sure he knew Dick had played on console games, Bruce had a playstation and xbox, but personal gaming devices usually meant they were for one player alone. Dick didn’t seem the type to game alone.

Despite his earlier apprehension, Dick happily took the device and after nearly two hours of Tim quietly coaching him through the semantics and fields and battles, Bruce found him in the same position.

“What are you two doing?” He growled but not as harshly as Tim was used to. Probably because Dick is here and happy and relaxing. The cruelty was for Tim at being in a similar mindset. Tim stiffened instinctively, Dick didn’t notice as he turned to Bruce with a large smile.

“Pokémon!” He said holding up the device proudly as if it was an accomplishment “B, turns out little Timmy knows how to have fun after all.” and Tim blushed and ducked his head ashamed. Bruce furrowed his brows at Tim, who just wanted to sink into the floor.

“I thought I told you to write the Tox report for Scarecrows new gas.” He growled at Tim and Dick kinda furrowed his brow in confusion.

“I-I did.” He whispered to his hands that were folded in his lap. Shoot, he was still in Dick’s lap. So unprofessional, maybe even more so than bringing a  _ toy _ to  _ work _ . Damn, how childish.

“And what about getting ahead in case files and maybe cross referencing with Ivy and-“

“Woah, chill B.” Dick said and it sounded nonchalant but he was giving Bruce an icy glare. Meaning he was angry but he didn’t want to be angry in front of Tim. “Let the kid relax for half a second. Is it so bad he wanted to play a game with his big brother? No wonder he’s so uptight with you breathing down his back 24/7 telling him to do work.” He said and Bruce growled and Tim fiddled with his fingers, picking at the scab on his finger tips. Dick wrapped his arms around him, almost as if shielding him “All work and no play makes Timmy a dull boy.” Dick squeezed him and Tim bit back an embarrassed squeak.

“I did all those too.” He whispered to Bruce, trying to ignore Dick. Bruce looked at him with a bat glare “and I also made headway in Dent’s case, well I started it I guess I mean there is reason to believe a branched off syndicate of his men are up to something underwraps but like not related to Dent probably a drug or trafficking circle. I’m sorry I got a little distracted.” He fumbled with the hem of his oversized sweater. Wasn’t this Dick’s?

“See? He even did all his work and extra credit so yeah, we are gonna continue to breed and fight virtual animal hybrids with powers now.” He turned the chair around so they weren’t face Bruce anymore, Dick didn’t relinquish his hold though. Tims blush came on full force.

“Dick…” he squeaked when he heard Bruce grunt and leave. 

“Awww Timmy you’re blushing.” Duck squealed in delight and made Tim hunch his shoulders a bit more. 

“Why did you…” Tim started in a mumble “I mean I  _ wasn’t  _ doing work even if I did do extra, I started a case and I shouldn’t-“

“Woah, hold up little bro.” He said and and Tim bit his lip to keep from rambling “you’re not a robot, you’re a kid. You should goof off and take a break like every other kid on the planet. You’re not some stupid machine, you should be silly and play games and shit with your friends and stuff.” Dick said a little upset.

“I don’t have friends.” Tim whispered fiddling with the scar he got along his fingers. Ives was just a school friend, and Cass was his sister like coworker. He didn’t have any  _ real _ friends. People he could talk to about stupid anythings or watch dumb B movies with ungodly snacks in the mornings or play co-op with on discord. 

“That’s what a big brother is for until you do.” He smiled brightly at Tim and Tim looked with wide eyes up at him, feeling more like a child but for some reason it felt okay. Right.

Dick didn’t see him as a do over or someone to mess with. Dick didn’t see him as a child, he saw him as a kid.

_ His _ kid.

OoO 

That night Tim didn’t even bother trying to go to his room, knowing where he’d end up. 

It got him a jump start on the fire as he dug through his sand blocks and limestone. He idly thought about how he was basically doing a real life Minecraft shit down here but no one stopped him. He needed something with little mass.  _ Light. _

These were gonna be harder because he had to make two identical ones, but not only that suspend electric wand inside a source with no handle, without shocking the user. Something quick and unexpected. Shocking and light. The surge would be passed between the two, multiplying and expanding the next hit, sharing the power. The light.

He had to use a suspension method, impact being a trigger at, how hard did Dick hit someone again? 32 miles per hour add 6 and yeah he’d need a programming wire. Use a more gelatin suspension method so silicon looks to be his best friend but silicon burned too easy and it took him a few tries and a mildly burned wrist to get it right. 

Enhanced bulletproof Glass casing, it had to be transparent to show the glow. Finally after four days of trial and error and damn he was hungry, when did he last eat? He stumbled into the kitchen, where Alfred and Dick looked up from quietly chatting, looking like a mess and an ashen cloth tidily wrapped around the two weapons in his hand as he sat on the counter with a quiet clink - he used more glass this time. 

“Uhm…” he looked at Alfred nervously as his stomach growled a bit, he didn’t have enough energy to be embarrassed by it. His skin already felt hot and tight, as if constricting his bones. Alfred nodded once and got to work cutting apples. Tim has to distract himself until he could have something in his stomach. Luckily Dick came out of his shock.

“Timmy! What happened? Where are you hurt? Why are you covered in-“ Dick fell short in his rapid fire as Tim let go of the cloth on the counter in front of Dick. His small handprint came away as he cleaned his hand on a damp cloth, holding in a wince at the new burns he hadn’t treated. Alfred put his sliced apple in front of him as Dick gently unwrapped the cloth and gasped a bit, tears coming to his eyes and these apples were  _ really good _ , where did Alfred get them? Tim munched slower as he got more sleepy than hungry, finally passing out, half eaten apple in his hand and head propped up on his elbow.

He didn’t see Dick’s happy smile as the nearly neon blue blazed the Eskrima to life, light not being harsh but still bright and pulsing.  _ Alive. _ Humming of the promise of electricity and shock. Glassiness of the smooth even casing weighs just right and the balance promising swift gracefulness.

“It looks like something out of a myth or fantasy book.” Dick whispered to no one really as his eyes reflected the dulling light. “It’s so...well crafted.”

“I believe master Tim would appreciate the sentiment.” Alfred hummed, touching his breast pocket where the knife had spent nearly 2 years in, looking at the sleeping boy fondly..

**_Neglect burning from the flames of acknowledgement._ **

OoOoO 

It took Tim longer than he’d care to admit when he figured Bruce out.

Like how to read him and such. He had spent his entire life reading people, watching from the shadows. He’d spent more effort on trying to read his mother, which was damn near impossible. Bruce used to be easy to read with Dick and Jason. In the scope of his lens he could tell what the man was feeling even with the cowl on. But now that Jason had died, Bruce was almost impossible for him to read. He had changed so much, Jason’s death making him into a completely different man. Tim didn’t know him personally before like Dick, so his older brother didn’t have a prayer of knowing the new Bruce, the old tells were just too ingrained. Tim might’ve had a better chance if he hadn’t took a reading on him before he became Robin, but if he hadn’t taken the reading then he wouldn’t  _ be _ Robin.

And then  _ just  _ as Tim was on the verge of understanding…

Jason came back to life. 

And then it was like a sudden flood of pure rage and aggression all over again. He hadn’t reverted back to Bruce pre-Jason death. He hadn’t stayed the same either. There was just a lot of  _ angry _ , that Jason was rubbing his own brand of  _ rage _ . Mostly directed at the Joker, partially directed at Jason, overall directed at the situation. This wasn’t grieving aggression. It was something else, it changed him again. Somewhere between fury and love that Tim couldn’t understand without crossing the line he’d drawn in the sand. Now all the problems involved  _ Jason _ and Dick and his family and Tim had long resided to watching from the other side of the glass, but before there was nothing to see. Just a hollow man. 

Now there was fire that burned bridges, morals being broken, trusts being tested. Justice and Revenge warring inside him. 

So obviously, Tim got the backlash of it.

Except instead of punching him to the ground during training or brutal reprimands (which still happened especially the latter), he got  _ tests _ and not just any tests. Tests that were harsh and cruel. Tests that made him think people were dead when they weren’t. Tests that drove Cass away and Dick being long gone and Babs making her own team to get away. Tests that tore into his soul and made him close off. 

Test after test after test. And he had no time to recover, or breathe for air. He couldn’t run away or quit or make excuses. He was Robin and that meant he was tied to Batman. But now the connection felt like shackles and he felt like a prisoner.

He was suffocating...until he wasn’t. 

Until he found a rogue file on Cadmus.

Until there was a quirk in the chronic atmosphere.

Until an artifact was set off by accident. 

Tim had thought that it was another test at first. He had worked the case even though the file could be virtually nothing but a glitch, then rescued Kon from Cadmus and gave him to Superman. He had figured followed the abnormal tectonic pattern spikes until he found Bart gave him to the Flash. He investigated the ancient trap that was from the Amazons and he and Cassie made a sort of alliance before he gave her back to Wonder Woman.

They’d drop by the cave sometimes with their mentors - because they didn’t know what to  _ do _ with them (Superman was now a dad and had no idea how to parent. Barry was retired and Wally didn’t know how to mentor a hyperactive nephew from an apocalyptic future. Diana...well she handled hers well actually, it was just unexpected at first. But not unwelcome) - Tim would be working. He never once gave in to their shenanigans as their mentors talked. Never once rose to the bait. This was all a test and he wouldn’t fall for it. He wouldn’t give in. 

So he ignored Kon asking to watch some B movie with some Zesti. He ignored Bart’s insistent chattering about playing the Super Smash Bros tournament on the wii because they had  _ just _ enough players for it to be a brawl. He ignored Cassie ranting about school or a stupid drama chicks or the latest episode of  _ Say Yes to the Dress _ . 

He ignored them, and lead them. He was here for a job but somewhere along the way, with the hugs and late night snacks and the vents on top of roofs and the dancing across the ballrooms freely with no structure, he had forgotten that  _ this was temporary _ . Jason coming back was a reminder of why he was Robin in the first place. To be a partner, coworker and nothing more. 

But then Kon asked to watch Wendy the Werewolf Stalker, and it was just that  _ once _ because it was post mission on the farm and Bruce was debriefing still at the watchtower - so long as he was in Gotham by sun up, he’d be okay. Then Bart asked to play Smash again, and it was just to shut him up - he was done with his work anyway. Then Cassie asked to watch a movie, and he had a free night so why not indulge them because they were his team (no it had nothing to do with Mean Girls and the fact that Regina George could’ve been a great political leader, shut up), then they talked during the whole movie about the stupid points. 

This wasn’t the Titans or Young Justice. They weren’t  _ really _ an official team. They were the surprises and mistakes. The rejected and neglected. They were kept in close proximity of their mentors but isolated from their peers because no one knew what they were capable of. Kon had TTK and Luthor's blood in him. Bart came from an apocalyptic future and had some sort of hybrid boost in his speed. Cassie wasn’t a born amazonian and had her own agenda. And Tim could lie to Batman and dissect every person in the world and strip down to their weakness and cripple them with words. 

They were the loose cannons. They were the ones no one wanted to come near. They were the ones called crazy and insane because they made outrageous, ingeniously unorthodox tactile choices that  _ worked _ . They were the ones no one knew what to do with. They were the ones unwanted, but were too dangerous to let go. They were the unknowns. The ones no one knew what to do with. They were the ones to watch out for.

They weren’t each others teammates. They were each other’s  _ escape _ .

Because they just  _ understood. _

They weren’t temporary.

It’s not like Batman would find out that he was skimping on a report or two to go to the arcade. Or that he had missed training because of another mission. Batman didn’t need to know that the reason he was taking more on with  _ his _ team - they were  _ his _ \- because it was less suffocating and Janet was somehow  _ dead _ and Jack still wanted nothing to do with him because he was raised by  _ her _ and he didn’t need Bruce  _ testing _ him when he was already so close to being emotionally compromised - and he didn’t know  _ why _ . 

But no one needed to know that.

But Batman  _ did  _ notice. Because why else would he stop Tim from going on another mission with them.

“I need you in Gotham.” he growled softly and that was that, Tim was staying because Robin was  _ Batman’s _ before anyone else. He had already made his decision and Tim thought he’d feel like he was failing a test. But it felt more like he got a passing grade without studying. 

Batman was acting differently, it had been four months since Jason had come back to life and Tim barely saw Bruce after the first two months of never ending exams from hell. When he did he seemed to be more tense than angry. The stakeout they were supposed to be on, the one that he really didn’t need to be on if he were honest, Bruce covered him in his cape to shield him from the rain. 

“You’ve lost weight.” he commented awkwardly, well for Batman and Tim blinked “And you haven’t been sleeping.” and how would Bruce know, it’s not like he was around often enough to notice. But of course he knew, World’s Greatest Detective and all. And that’s why it was so hard to keep his goofing off a secret, cause for every gaming session with b\Bart, every rant with Kon, every episode with cassie. He had to double up on his case work, go faster, no time to rest or eat. Every mission he had to make it all seem professional 100 percent of the time, covering up the jokes and side comments and lapses in time where they just goofed off a bit - sometimes to prolong a mission. He had been eating more junk food during sessions than healthy stuff outside it. He got full faster that way. More coffee to stay awake and meet his usual quota of impossible standards. It was more work but they were a bigger distraction to his slowly crumbling life than taking proper care of himself ever would be. 

“I’m fine.” Tim said coldly, stiff posture under the cape, not that Bruce could feel. They weren’t touching. Tim could feel something building in his chest and his fingers started to ache.

“No, I’ve...I’ve been too hard on you lately. Well always but more so since…”  _ Jason came back.  _ And when did that change from  _ died _ ? Pressure, that’s what was growing between them. Like a ton of bricks and Tim was on the verge of collapsing under it all. A lot of pressure and he wasn’t sure whether he was gonna puke or cry. 

_ Jason tried to kill me. _

“It’s fine.” Tim breathed out instead, Bruce got closer and now his arm was around Tim and  _ it was too much _ . 

“I’m sorry.” _ toomuch _ . “I give you a lot because I know you can handle it, I  _ trust _ you to handle it. I never really think about weather you  _ should _ .” And shit. He fucking broke. Not think because he had no idea how to respond to that, and the guilt of making professional to personal. He promised he wouldn’t. To Bruce. To  _ himself _ . Personal meant when you lost it, it would hurt. When he lost Robin, he’d lose them too. Robin was professional, and they were personal. 

Guilt, sadness, betrayal, loneliness, suspense, anxiety and fear all swirled in his gut. Tim had broken his promise of professionalism and Bruce was here telling him that  _ he _ was being too harsh when no he was just asking Tim to do his job. As if Tim wasn’t ditching patrol to hang out with his...his  _ friends _ . It was making him sick and wanting to cry or scream or punch something until he felt better. But he couldn’t do those things, so Tim pushed Bruce away and ran, because that’s all he could do right now.

He couldn’t think right now.

OoO

He didn’t even notice what he was making until he was halfway done and 15 hours in. 

This was funny because he hadn’t slept last night and he hadn’t changed out of his Robin costume either. Wasn’t  _ that  _ poetic? At least his sleep hazed mind thought so. He was still a bit damp from the rain and ashes clung to his uniform like cotton balls on fleece as he started the forge. He had chosen the darkest, strongest metals that took the longest to burn.  _ Resilient. _

He vaguely recognized that he wasn’t making a standard weapon either, but a retractable tonfa. He didn’t know how to use a tonfa. And wasn’t  _ that _ something because he’d only seen Bruce use it  _ once _ and that was a special need case. He couldn’t carry it around because it was so impractical to have massive sticks sticking out of his arms at all times, but he knew if it were more logical, Bruce would use them all the time. 

Retractable. Metal.  _ Light _ but sturdy. What if he put tasers on the end...taser patches. Were those a thing? They were now, Tim just invented them and had the slit across the back of his right palm to prove it. Too bad he didn’t write that down, it was a good thought. He wouldn’t remember when he woke up, he was 65% sure.

Locking mechanisms, check. Compartment mechanisms, check. Shocking mechanism, check. Wow, how did everything work. He didn’t even know how to  _ use _ Tonfas. It was an impractical weapon for him to make, but not for him to give. 

_ He never really knew how to use any of the weapons  _ he _ created anyway.  _

He barely remembered wrapping the weapon up in some messy cloth. He barely remembered stumbling from his abandoned manor and barging into the cave’s driveway entrance. He was in the forge, then half way to the manor, then stepping inside the cave and suddenly Bruce was in front of him, looking at him on eye level because he was sitting in a chair. He was still in full soot ridden Robin gear, with ashes and scorch marks and just flat out tired, with the domino mask abandoned. 

But now that he was here, he was empty. Too empty and tired to stay up straight and think or have emotions right now. He fell straight into Bruce, not even presenting his weapon, but then again he never does. This was just more unceremonious than the other times. Bruce, for his part, gathered him up into a little bundle and stroked his hair soothingly. 

“Сделал тебя…” he whispered, voice raw from disuse and how long had he been away? He shifted so that Bruce could feel the weapon that fell between them on the man’s lap. The man stuttered in his motions for a quick second and Tim made a keening noise and he continued with a deep soft chuckle that Tim felt more than heard. “ _ Мой  _ бэтмен” he promised, because he  _ trusted _ Bruce and he dully realizes he doesn’t do that very often. 

“And you’re my Robin.” he heard just ad he slipped off into blissful nothingness.

**_Challenges breeding trust._ **

OoOoO

He didn’t like Steph when he had first met her.

How could he, she was in a Robin costume, when  _ he _ was supposed to be Robin. Between the time his mother died and Social Services  _ demanded _ his father took him before chucking him off to boarding school so he didn’t have to deal with him. He could still be Robin, just not in Gotham. He had felt mad at her, and the kindles of that fire remained even after she had assumed Spoiler. 

In retrospect, she was his first true rival, and even if she made quicker progress on her physical training, she couldn’t even touch his intellect. He preened to himself and knew that was the only reason he got back Robin in the first place.

Somewhere along the way, however, that fighting and hatred turned into competition but not the nasty kind. Where they were trying to prove themselves more to each other than to Bruce. One upping the other just for the smug feeling and something to hang over the other’s head. 

When they teamed up and were a pretty damn good team. Like him and Cass, where she was the muscle and he was the brain for the most part. And when it was all three of them, they were an unstoppable force of stubborn pride, graceful skill and clever intelect. They had fun together,  _ like siblings _ . They did stupid things together, made teasing cracks each other and had each other’s back no matter what.

Steph was a goofball, but she was a hardworking goofball. It made her opponents (Tim included) underestimate her abilities.

So Tim got to know her a bit more and then that rivalry became more of a friendship, where they’d show up at each other’s apartments through the window and bring donuts or milkshakes or ice cream and vent or watch the Bachelorette or the Office or some other ridiculous modern TV show that she was obsessed with that week. 

And he enjoyed it.

She was the first person to hear his opinion and say that it was valid. The first one to  _ tell _ him that he should just say what he’s thinking because he was worth listening to. With Cass it was implied, she listened to him and he listened to her, but it went unspoken that they valued those opinions. With Steph, she said it and it felt just as real as Cass.

Sure they never stopped competing but it wasn’t so much a competition anymore, as it was just for fun.

“My money is on Ivy, she’d win a fight against Joker.” Steph said with certainty as she sipped on her slurpy again and Tim hummed into his own. 

“In defense of Harley of course.” he said idly, and swung his legs and Steph nearly spat out her drink from laughing.

“You noticed too?!” she said with a huge grin on her face and he scoffed.

“Who hasn’t.”

“B”

“He’s in denial.”

“You give him too much credit.”

“You just hate him because he’s the dad you never had.” Tim joked and Steph looked serious for a minute and Tim stopped smiling at his misstep. Sometimes he forgot he couldn’t just  _ say _ anything even when he could voice his opinion “I’m so-”

“You too.” she cut off and looked off into the distance and shit, he forgot just because he was the smarter of the two of them didn’t mean Steph wasn’t smart period. And he felt like a douche for forgetting that. “You’re dad is just as much as a dick as mine.”

“He just wasn’t present Steph, I-”  _ was more afraid of my mom, and so was he. That’s why he left _ . But he couldn’t get into that. He never could, even when he wanted to. Not even with Alfred or Cass, but somehow they just understood. It was too complicated and messy and just… he didn’t want to think about that past that seemed forever ago. The execution platforms and the sneaking in the dark. Watching people off themselves. It all seemed so blurry and grey now. Almost like it wasn’t him.  _ It wasn’t him. _

Steph looked to him for a moment “You’re too good to him.” she shook her head “To everyone, really. They don’t deserve you.” 

“And you do?” he quirked an eyebrow. She did, it was him that didn’t deserve  _ them _ . But still.

“Of course, who else would watch Good Girls with me every Thursday?” And it was at moment Tim knew. 

Between the jobs and her mom and Spoiler.

Steph was as lonely as he used to be.

OoOoO

He did this one more consciously, but with the same amount of effort.

Probably why it took him 2 days for a big weapon instead of five. A kukri, a simple weapon, or seeming that way at least. Purposefully unbalanced in some places, but Tim was kinda OCD when it came to that sort of stuff so he’d skip that part. Steph would have to learn how to use it, he knew she’d put the work in.  _ Unpredictable. _

Tim would admit this would be the flashiest of his arsenal. He put a little bit of web generator in there, just because he thought Steph would enjoy the sticky surprise when she slashed the criminals and it would immediately bond them. Steph was hardworking, but impatient sometimes.

Slight purple tint and Tim couldn’t help the LED display to balance it just right because the tip was a bit heavier and he just couldn’t make it uneven. Obsidian so it wouldn’t stick and yeah, glass so it was lighter and 1990 degrees later it was the perfect mixture and a new scar on his left three knuckles because obsidian was a  _ bitch _ . 

One pet peeve. And it was more over the top than any of his other weapons. But Steph would appreciate it. He hoped. It matched her aesthetic.

He also hoped he wouldn’t pass out on her, it didn't  _ feel _ like he would. If he did, then he’d get relentlessly teased, nice weapon or not. He slipped it in the sheath and went to the cave where he knew Cass and Steph were training and then his mind kinda went blank. He whipped his face with his ash ridden hands so he probably smudged it worse, and his vision got hazy as he stumbled into the middle of their fight.

“Yo, Tim be a gentleman. Don’t interrupt two girls while-” he was dizzy and gonna pass out so he ignored Steph as he shoved the Kukri in her hands and she clamped her mouth shut in confusion and tipped back to where Cass caught him and blinked once.

Steph opened the Sheath

Blink twice.

She grabbed the hilt

Blink thrice.

She pulled it out and he passed out.

He didn’t see her reaction of delighted awe at the blade, he had made it smaller for her advantage, he knew she loved to get up and personal. He didn’t see how it internally blazed as she slashed out experimentally or the pleasantly shocked sound as she saw the solvent come out. She’d have to reload that shit though, he had renewable cartridges in his bag.

He’d give them to her when he woke up.

**_Rivals replaced by friendship._ **

OoOoO

Tim lost everything.

His life fell apart and crashed around him. Cass was gone, Steph was dead, So was Kon and Bart and his dad, Bruce was lost and Dick ... 

Dick  _ betrayed _ him.

Damian was Robin. Tim wasn’t. Tim was crazy. Grief ridden, delusional, needed help.  _ Didn’t need Robin _ . 

Dick had always believed Tim before, he had seen crazier things. They’d done crazier things. But Dick wouldn’t even  _ listen _ and everyone who would was gonegone _ gone. _ Wally and Jason came back from being dead and Jason was  _ actually _ dead. So what made this time so different. What made Bruce so different.

Tim was kicked out too. Kicked out of his job, his home and the demon brat taunted him for it and Dick said  _ nothing _ .

Gave his  _ little brother _ up for another.

A shiner model.

And okay, logically he knew Damian would get Robin  _ eventually _ . He just wasn’t prepared for it to be  _ now _ . He thought  _ he’d _ get to pass the mantle down, because Bruce hadn’t replaced him straight away. Bruce kept him and he felt wanted. He thought he was.

But as soon as Dick had the authority to kick Tim out he did. How could he have not seen this coming. He was so blind as to trust Dick, because he didn’t trust a lot of people, and Dick through him away.  _ Janet warned him of this _ .

He said he had loved him, that he was his little brother, and packed up with the rest of the trash when it was time for spring cleaning. 

Don’t make the professional personal. He broke the rule and now he was hurting.

Tim had given him a  _ weapon _ . Had bled and burned for Nightwing but…

_ Batman doesn’t use escrima sticks. _

OoO

He didn’t have Robin anymore. 

He had nothing, and now he’d have to forge himself a new life. 

But Tim was angry when he had made the leg guards. So they turned out high and plated to the thigh. He got slashes on his forearms for the trouble.

He was hurt when he made the arm guards and holsters so they came out blacker than he had anticipated. He got a deep gash in his right palm.

He was betrayed when he made his weapons, so they came out an angry glowing red for his bow staff and jagged razor knives that buzzed with fury. He got slits along his right hand.

High boots, plated thighs and forearms, wrist computers and glowing razor-edged blades. Sewn kevlar like how his Robin suit used to be but black.

He was frustrated so he slashed at some of the edges to make it look more ragged. He taped the gun his mother had taught him to use once to the small of his back so that it could be virtually unseen.

Black belated armor. An angry red staff that flared to life with a harsh glow and retractable knives buzzing with concentrated electrified radiation.

Red and black and  _ angry. _

He made himself something out of his ashes and betrayal.

Red Robin

He’d find Bruce. Because Bruce was his Batman. Because no one else will,  _ could _ . Because this was his final test as Bruce’s partner. 

**_Their betrayal fueling his redemption._ **

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I got a lot of good responses on the last chapter, again. this is totally unedited but I wanted to get it out, I probably will edit it a little later and probably will make a series on this, but don't count on it  
> Oh and Timmy isn't a demigod or anything, I just like making greek analogies for this AU  
> Enjoy!

Tim doesn’t  _ get _ mad. 

Not in all the time Jason had met the kid. Not when Jason tried to kill him or when the Demon brat belittled him ( and also tried to kill him, kid’s got serious issues). When Dick treated him like he was crazy (their older brother wouldn’t say it, but Jason and Damian jumped on every opportunity to pick at that little fact). When they called him a mistake or temporary and the others sometimes acted like he was too. Called him replacement or pretender. When Damian asks Tim why he was still around. When he wasn’t needed. When Dick would just sigh because it took too much effort to defend him on every little thing (and sometimes he could see the disappointed betrayal and hurt on the kid’s face. Like he expected that but it still stung him. It depended on whether or not Jason was in a good mood to feel bad and shut up or drive the stake in).

Deep down he knew it all built up somewhere. That anger. That hurt. That Betrayal. Tim was good at repressing it and moving on, or just pretending it didn’t affect him. And he was good at brushing it off that it was a somewhat of a twisted reward anytime they (he and Damian) got a rise out of him. Always the calm and cool one, needed to be taken down a peg or two to remind him that he wasn’t perfect.

The unbreakable punching bag. The one who could take hit after hit and still never be fazed.

That’s what he had thought.

Tim was always so cool headed about  _ everything _ and it pissed Jason off. Everything that he wasn’t and would never be. It pissed Damian off too. Everything he could never live up to. They were too temperamental, too impulsive to think rationally all the time. To have the perfect plan. To keep up with their father’s thinking. It was why he was the perfect Robin, cause not only did he follow orders perfectly, he went above and beyond  _ every. Single. Time.  _ Without even  _ trying _ .

And it’s not like anyone expected him to live up to  _ Drake _ . ‘ _ Be yourself _ ’, they always told him. ‘ _ You don’t have to prove anything _ .’ What a load of bullshit. Everyone knew that Tim was the prime example. The perfect Robin (even if Dick was the Golden Boy, he had flaws. Tim was the perfect soldier of perfection) Tim didn’t make trouble. He was quiet and carried out his duties with efficiency and finesse that couldn’t be achieved through rash decisions.

Even after this shitty night, the replacement was just sitting there calmly. Typing up reports like they didn’t just lose a whole drug bust that they’d been following for  _ weeks _ . All their work down the drain, and he acted as if it was perfectly normal and that he wasn’t completely frustrated and it  _ pissed them off. _

“I bet this is usual for you, Drake.” Damian sneered as he stalked along the cat walk and leaned against the rail behind where Tim was working on his computer doing whatever it was he did “I mean, you know, when you actually get off your ass and  _ work _ like the rest of the family.” he snarled and Tim didn’t really respond, or acknowledge that he was being talked to, just kept typing without missing a beat.

“Damian.” Dick said tiredly but gave up immediately, too exhausted to defend his precious little brother and went to the locker room. Jason saw the tension hold up in Tim’s shoulder bristle like a cat just a little, and decided to jump in because maybe this was the moment they finally broke him. They finally got a rise out of the cool headed teen.

“No, really it was the Pretender’s crap information that led us to this epicly awful failure of a night.” Jason said casually, Tim’s shoulders tightened more as he mumbled something “What’s that your highness? Wanna face us lowly peasants and tell us to our face how you screwed this up for us?” he saw Tim briefly glance over at Bruce from where he was sitting at the main computer paying no mind to them. It was just usal bickering, right? (Somewhere in the back of his mind he felt bad, because no one here would defend the boy especially after this terrible night).

“I think we deserve that much of you. But then again you have no real dignity to flaunt.” Damian smirked and Jason would high five the kid if he wasn’t so far away.

“That was all stripped from you. Wasn’t it?” Jason asked cruelty in his voice and Tim’s shoulder loosened a bit, Jason still couldn’t see his face. “You’re not special, you’re just like the rest of us. Used and replaced. Except, you were never  _ really _ a replacement, just more of a placeholder.” Was this escalating? 

“That is why Greyson found you unworthy of Robin and kicked you out the first chance he got.” Damian jumped in quickly, a vicious sneer on his face. This was all in the past anyway, right? They could joke about this...right?

“Still couldn’t take the hint though? You just kept hanging on because let’s face it you have nothing else to live for.” Jason tacked on.

“Which is just pitiful because we don’t really need you. But it seems you intend to leech onto us because of your sad pathetic life.” Damian crooned.

“Just another broken bird.” Jason finished with a satisfied smirk, but it seemed Tim didn’t respond to any of it. Just stopped typing and bowed his head, still - not even shaking. Maybe they hadn’t gotten through to him. Oh well, maybe next time, though that was a damn good effort.

They expected Tim to sigh and just continue with his work - like he  _ always _ did. They expected him to roll his eyes. Defend himself. Witty comeback.  _ Anything _ .

But they didn’t expect him to get up, put up his hood and run out of the cave with his head bowed. 

They were frozen in place from where the boy had disappeared up the stairs. Dick came in with his wet toweling of his hair as Tim ran past him and looked confused before sighing and continuing on with his path.

_ Did he even care? _

Jason and Damian looked at each other for a second, dread pooling in their stomachs. Tim wasn’t really upset, right. They say these things all the time. Sure it was a bit brutal and it had been a stressful few weeks… But it was okay.

_ Tim didn’t break. _

Or at least that’s what Jason kept telling himself before he was going to his room 30 minutes later and heard the sound of crashing from a closed door of one of his siblings' bedrooms.  _ Tim’s _ Bedroom.

Jason froze outside the door, staring horrified as he heard crashing and breaking of random objects shattering against walls and tables. There was no screaming nor yelling nor crying. It went on for hours behind the mahogany door. Jason just stood there, unable to move in shock as he heard the inanimate objects break in place of Tim’s mind.

And he felt like shit. 

_ Tim doesn’t break. _

Somewhere in that time, he had accumulated his other brothers. Damian first, as he heard a loud crash of a lamp being thrown at the wall and shattered and him just standing there looking at the floor, waiting for a scream that would never come because  _ Tim doesn’t break _ .

Then Dick, who bounced over and then stopped his smile freezing in place as he heard a rip of the bed sheets being torn apart and the grin faded completely when he flinched back as they heard a crack of a rod hitting something, probably the desk. He froze too, waiting for the crying that  _ should come _ so he could have a reason to pick the lock and do something because  _ Tim doesn’t break. _

He heard Alfred sigh and walk away sadly as holes were being stabbed into the wall by the door, as glass was being broken and metal was being smashed.

Tears and rips and clanging and splinters and cracks coming behind the door rose in a crescendo-

And then it just stopped.

One minute...two minutes...five minutes...ten minutes...twenty minutes. 

Tim emerged looking blank and hollowed out. Like he hadn’t slept in days. Like he had no more emotions as they were all just drained out of him and now he was two seconds away from passing out. He looked wrecked, but his face was impassive and calm and collected as ever. 

Dick inhaled sharply at the face. Jason inhaled sharply at the room.

_ Damn _ the baby bird could do some damage. Everything was broken or smashed, holes in the wall, papers and fabric shredded in the floor, bed sheets and mattress torn, desk splintered in half, bed frame stomped on into little pieces, books and tools and gear and clothes on the floor and picture frames shattered. It was like a feral animal had gotten in the room and was left at it for hours. 

Tim walked over to the supply closet in the hallway and grabbed a broom and calmly walked back, going in between his three brothers and closed the door softly without saying anything.

_ Got nothing left in him. _

_ And Jason felt like shit _ .

They pushed their brother to the point where he felt like he had to wreck a room and while Jason could admit that was therapeutic this was  _ Tim Drake.  _ Perfectionist of the century. The kid who never gave in or broke down. The kid who has been clocked down so many times only to get up ten times stronger and smarter. 

_ The kid who never breaks. _

And he felt like he had to do it alone because everyone else would’ve just pushed him to the side and told him to chill when no, he  _ needed _ this. To be angry and lash out and he needed people to  _ understand _ that. But they didn’t because they all expected him to understand that he couldn’t just  _ lash out _ whenever he felt like it. Not on his family or the criminals they faced. Everyone else could but  _ not him _ .

Tim understood that Jason needed to be angry, and didn't stop him from doing what he does, the only one of the family that hasn’t reprimanded him for shooting a guy in the head. Not even a disapproving glare. He understood that Damian had to say things that were down right vicious to him to feel accepted, like he belonged. He didn’t say a word against them. Let them do what they needed to because unlike everyone else,  _ he understood _ . Especially when no one else didn’t.

And no one was there to understand him.

Not Tim because Tim was  _ always _ okay. Not Tim because it was only  _ one comment _ . Not Tim because yeah people died but  _ they came back _ so what was there to be sad about? Not Tim because he was too busy figuring shit out for others he forgot to grieve. Not Tim because  _ Tim didn’t break. _

It was just one comment.

It was just one action.

It was just one  _ lie. _

Sure he’s been betrayed but it’s for a good reason. Sure they beat him up but they weren’t mad at  _ him _ . Sure they criticized and ostracized and pushed him aside but he could do better anyway. Right?

Suddenly Jason felt anger well up. At Dick for never being there when it counted. At Bruce for never noticing that his kid was crumbling. At himself and Damian for pushing this kid when he clearly had so much shit going on. 

_ T _ hey were bending this kid too far and one day he’d break. He’d shut down. Because he’d never leave. He was too good for them but he was too ingrained to leave. 

“This is fucked up.” he seethed and Dick looked far away at the door as Damian glared at the floor. 

“Timmy…” Dick didn’t finish as tears pooled in his eyes and Jason snarled at him.

“You don’t get to be sad. Would it  _ kill _ you to stand up for the kid once in a while?” Jason bit out at his older brother and Dick whirled at him, anger burning in his eyes. He’d win the stand off, because Jason’s anger was much more intense.

“And would it kill you to be a little nicer to him?” Dick snapped right back “Both of you.” he said whipping his head down at Damian.

“We aren’t the ones he trusted when he lost everything, Greyson.” Damian seethed and Dick flinched back.

“Yeah, what’s up with that?  _ You’re _ the one broke him down to nothing when he had already lost it all.” Jason stepped forward and Dick shook his head and stepped back.

“Jason, you heard him. He was...grieving… he lost so much and he just snapped.” Dick said with a furrow of his brows.

“But he was right.” Jason pressed “And what kind of fucked up logic is that? My little brother just lost everything so instead of consoling him I’ll just take everything else and kick him to the curb.” As Jason was saying it he realized that maybe joking about this would never be okay, even if they were on better terms. “As soon as he seemed broken you threw him out.” he laughed a bit humorlessly.

“I  _ didn’t _ . He left on his own!” Dick hissed.

“You didn’t give him much of a choice.” Damian crossed his arms. “What else was he supposed to do. He asked you for help and you stripped him of his title, that kind of message doesn’t paint one saying that he was welcome.” 

“Bruce had just  _ died  _ and-”

“You weren’t the only one grieving god dammit.” Jason snarled. And it was quiet for a while before Damian turned away and went to his room, slamming the door. Jason huffed and did the same, leaving Dick in the hallway.

The room didn’t make a noise beyond that. 

All the way to the point when it was time to wake up and go to breakfast, Jason knocked on the door because he’d be damned if the kid missed any more meals cause of the stupid shit they said.

Damian must have had the same idea but instead of knocking he walked right in. Surprisingly the door was open.

“Drake stop your self destructive behavior and-“ he was cut off by Tim cutting off a thread in sewing and smoothing down the corner to a  _ neat bed _ and a  _ neat room _ although it looked emptier without the books and the papers and posters on the wall. Almost like a guest room except for the few thing Tim found salvageable. Almost like nothing happened. Like his very justified melt down was something he could sew, glue and nail together and fix in one night.

It looked so empty. 

Tim looked up at them.

“Hey Babybird.” He said softly because Tim had this exhausted look in his eye like all he wanted to do was sleep. But it was deeper than that. Deeper than Bone deep into his soul and too tired to give any shits. He just stared down at the stitched bedding.

“Drake…” Damian started in a mumble as Tim’s glassy gaze bore through them when he finally looked up. His fingers twitched a bit where they were hiding under his sleeve and his eyes snapped toward them. It was like they were pinned with that icy intense gaze, like they were drowning in the arctic, cold water filling and choking them. Clogging their throats.

“I haven’t…” he whispered and he got up too quickly and made a beeline for the door.

“Woah, hold up Timbers.” He said, moving out of the gaze and gently held onto his thin shoulders, Tim twitched again and this time something started to fill up in his eyes, not tears but instead of being dazed he seemed more hazed. “Slow down. What’s wrong?” Jason cursed himself because clearly that was a multiple variable question with no correct answer.

“I have to go, Jason.” He whispered, he didn’t sound urgent but he didn’t sound passive either and Jason didn’t like the phrasing, Tims hand twitched more. 

“I think not. You are in no condition to go anywhere alone.” Damian huffed and grabbed onto Tims wrist which started to grab something that wasn’t there and Tim’s eyes blew wide. 

“Let me go.” He whispered, a little more urgently. His twitching got worse.

“What’s-“

“Master Jason! Master Damian!” Alfred manifested behind him and he looked almost as frightened as Tim “let him go immediately .” And they did as if burned.

Tim disappeared as soon as they broke contact.

Jason felt even more like shit.

OoO

He hadn’t been down here in a whole year. 

Didn’t even touch it. Because the last time those fires lit it was because he was angry and he had tainted this forge with those emotions. It was blackened and old and he could here the sound of metal banging onto each other but for the wrong emotions. 

He has to fix this forge as much as he has to fix everything else that seemed to have crumbled in his life.

So he lit the fire and then went into his gaze.

Damian and Jason both were duel weirder sin their own sense and their weapons were long overdue. So it was no wonder Tim had disappeared for a week and a half. 

How do you forge a gun? You don’t otherwise it’s just a piece of useless cold metal. Guns had inner workings, inner mechanisms. Mechanisms that had to be forged to fit each other but separately made. It was technical and repetitive and took a lot of clay.  _ Complicated. _

He wired discharge batteries to make it so Jason wouldn’t need bullets. So it’d be harder to kill. Not impossible, but he’d have to aim. He’d have to make his shot count. He’d have to think before he kills. Minimizing casualties while also keeping what made him special. Complicating wasn’t necessarily  _ bad _ . Not if you looked at it right.

Pressurized energy radiation, it’d feel like a bullet but cauterize the wound immediately- it wasn’t as lethal. He used old laser schematics that he memorized from a case ..a while back and wasn’t it just dandy that it turned out  _ red _ . Discharge batteries, make it lunar and solar powered while also having excess charging units in holsters. The smaller parts hand to be taken out manually and he got rod burns across his palms, bleeding and burning and  _ hurting. _

Damian was easier. A katana. One that would be made of 1 part glass and 2 parts graphite. But make room inside for something else. It would be heavier, more tech based. It wouldn’t be made to  _ kill _ , it would be made dull. Room for other properties to express uniqueness.  _ Creative. _

But not just a  _ normal _ katana. The opposite of Cass but still have a discharge member in the hilt. Perfectly balanced, perfectly maneuverable, like he was swinging around a bendy straw instead of a katana. Unlike Cass he would make the default blade dull so no matter how many times it’s sharpened it couldn’t kill easily. Sharp enough to cut, dull enough not to kill. 

Program the discharge wire so that instead of shock on impact it shocked inside the bloodstream, paralyzing the nerves. Compression lighting to sterilize the blood so tetanus could be avoided. Blue electricity and yellow optics make green hue. Simple design, complicated solutions. He manually installed the wire into the lava and got burned on all his finger tips, nails bleeding and burned to the nub.

These weapons weren’t made to inherently kill. They were made to keep a person alive long enough to  _ suffer _ . 

So he sheathed the Katanas and placed the guns in the charging holsters and ventured back to Wayne Manor. Mind fuzzy, but somehow clear. The ash and smoke of his forge did that to him.

It was two hours before the time he had left one and a half weeks ago and it was his luck that Jason and Damian were there in the kitchen, with Alfred and Dick behind the counter.

He had to admit he looked more terrible than he usually did. He felt more floaty and weird, and just plain unaware (which he didn’t like much) but he could have sworn Dick was smiling too big as he gently shoved the holsters next to Jason’s plate where it was placed on the dining table and him looking at him with question and half a bite of food still in his mouth. He turned to the counter and slid the sheath under Damians propped up arms, not even taking a look at his mirrored gaze to their second oldest brother, and then promptly left before he could pass out or throw up cause he felt like doing both now.

“What are these?” Damian questioned to Dick who clearly seemed too giddy to be healthy “and why does Drake look like he is a refugee from a detainment camp held at a pollution factory.” he demanded.

“You got Timmy Weapons!” Dick burst out in glee, seeming unable to contain himself “Oh god, I thought he was mad but I guess he wasn’t and ohhh you’re gonna  _ love these _ .”

“Timmy weapons?” Jason didn’t look amused as he looked at the holster in his hands. He took out the gun and inspected it. Damian also took out his blade to do the same. 

“Speak sense Greyson!” Damian demanded with a scowl.

“Yep, Timmy makes Em from scratch and only really special people get em.” Dick spin around his escrima sticks from where he was hiding them and they glowed it’s happy blue. “So if you have em, then it means you’re special to him too!” Dick happily summarized. 

“Obviously he made them from scratch but I would not expect him to be so sloppy. The blade was made too dull to do anything more than scratch.” Damian scoffed and Jason hummed. 

“Yeah, babybird didn’t even put any place to have a bullet chamber.” He said inspecting his own gun and Alfred furrowed his brow. “I mean it’s perfectly balanced and everything, sure, in fact inhumanly balanced, but just a bit useless if I can’t fire any rounds.” Jason frowned.

“Todd is correct, while light and balanced, it fails to do it’s main purpose.” Damian agreed. “It must be an epic mistake due to his state of mind while creating them.” 

“Master Tim does not make mistakes when forging. While he does not partake often, it is unlikely that you have a dysfunctional weapon.” Alfred said and held out a hand to look at the gun Jason gave it willingly.

“What?!” Dick looked appalled “babybird just hasn’t made any in a while, maybe he’ll fix it later and you’ll get kick ass weapons too.” Dick said as if reassuring. But Alfred hummed and gave the gun back to Jason.

“Actually, Master Dick, I think Master Tim may have outdone himself with these two.” He nodded “well worth the wait.” He said and then looked to Jason and Damian. “I suggest giving an experimental drive.” Alfred said and pointedly looked at the window.

“Wait, seriously Alf?” Jason asked looking almost excited and Alfred gave him a pointed look.

“You may, this once.” he pressed and Jason’s smile was wicked.

“Don’t let this go to waste Babybird.” he mumbled and pulled the trigger out the window where a red bullet shot off and a clean shot through the tree. No overlapping burn marks, and more precise than a real bullet. “Holy shit.” he mumbled and looked at the gun that was dying down from it’s flashing ferocious red highlights “these don’t need no bullets.” he said and smiled a wry smile.

Damian shot up and gave his an experimental swing at the wall, but nothing other than a scratch, even as the hilt buzzed a bit. Damian furrowed his brows as Jason laughed and he growled and slashed for Todd, knowing it wouldn’t kill because it was usele-

As soon as the scratch began the hilt glowed a venomous dangerous green and Todd’s arm went limp.

“What the hell! What did you just do to me brat?!” he screamed as he wiggled his arm around uselessly and Damian stared at the glowing blade as a sliver of blood dripped off and it seemed to ‘power down’. 

“It reacted to the blood.” he said and Dick laughed excitedly.

“Holy moly! Alfie look!” he shook the indifferent butler, vibrating with excitement “Timmy Weapons rule! I called it.” Alfred allowed a small amused smile at the scene.

“Very good sir, however do you remember after Master Tim gifts one of his creations?” Just as Dick was about to answer they heard a loud crash of a vase being shattered and then footsteps, a sigh, and then Bruce came in holding and unconscious Tim.

“Who got one this time?” he asked almost tiredly as he took in the people in the room.

“Master Jason and Master Damian, sir.” he eyed Damian still looking at his sword as if it were magic and Jason who had a noodle arm and a gun pointed out the window.

“...shit.”

“Father! Drake is a descendant of Hephaestus!” Damian accused seriously looking Bruce directly in the eye.

“Heeeyyy, es m’ fav’rite.” Tim mumbled happily 

“Got nothin on Athena though.” Jason smirked, feeling coming back to his arm.

“Jay ‘s mean br’ce. Dami m’ new fav’rite.” Tim sighed sleepily “Сделай ему шурикин, мне подделать грустно” he mumbled and went back to sleep as Damian smirked.

“Hey does that mean Dami get more Timmy weapons? That’s not fair.” Dick whined. 

“Drake has chosen his favorite sibling Greyson.” Damian said triumphantly and Bruce sighed again.

“No one is getting anymore weapons.” Bruce said sternly “And if anything Tim’s favorite sibling is Cass, god knows how many weapons he’s made her.” he mumbled. Jason blinked looking at Bruce.

“Shit, do you think that’s why she’s so badass?” Jason asked.

“No.” Bruce said at the same time Tim said “нет, она делает это сама” and nuzzled more into Bruce. 

“Tim…” he said soothingly, rubbing his back.

“Aww, he must be tired.”

“Тссс, прекрати говорить, пожалуйста.” he whispered and Bruce hummed as he turned around and Tim made grabby bye-bye hands as Dick cooed and bounced off after them to cuddle poor Tim. Damian and Jason looked at each other unsure of what to do.

“Master Tim hasn’t slept in weeks.” Alfred sighed “I’d hate to see him get disturbed.” It wasn’t a comment. Damian and Jason put their guns away and went off to save their blacksmith of a brother.

**_Cruelty hiding their respect._ **

OoOoO

Tim knew of Duke Thomas before he had left on his space journey with the rest of the Core 4.

He had meant to stay, to welcome Duke into the family and congratulating Bruce on finally adopting an official (not by state law of course) meta (although they were all still debating whether or not Cass was one yet. Alfred was definitely immortal). He’s honestly surprised it hasn’t happened sooner. 

Even Jason had stayed to help Duke get settled in, and the new kid was there all of a month - didn’t even have a super hero name yet - when Tim somehow managed to be in outer space and go through several time loops, so to him it had only been a week. To everyone else it had been 2 months. Still, he left that sweet innocent child with his batshit crazy family - one could say he himself was batshit crazy, but he was better at  _ seeming _ like he was acceptable in broader society...when he wanted to be.

But nevertheless Duke seemed to settle in nicely, (whether it’s because  _ he  _ became batshit crazy or just accepted this as his fate, Tim had yet to determine) but what Tim hadn’t anticipated was that he’d have a little bit of a fan.

Tim had always been the fanboy of the family. His KGB sleuthing and his vast knowledge of all superhero related activities were just disguised by the guise of ‘work’. He secretly fanboyed everytime he went to the tower until he was in his third year as Robin, KGB espionage and composure the only thing keeping him cool (not that Bruce knew that at the time). Tim was also the unpopular vote as Robin, even if he may have made more networks for batman, that was mostly behind the scenes stuff. The only time he got exposure was mostly when he was with the Core 4, when they were blowing shit up and not going on covert ops (they were considered the ‘hottest teen superhero team’. The other competitors were Dick’s Titans, Jason’s Outlaws, Cass’ Blaudhaven Bomben, Bab’s Birds of Prey and Damian’s Teen Titans. Tim’s assuming they got that due to their rebellious and untethered nature, while Jason’s team did the same it was something about them being teens that made it more appealing and while the girls were considered the hottest best that was due to their appeal. The reason they were picked, according to the general consensus on twitter, was because they each had an attribute of sorts. Bart was the cute one, Cassie was the pretty one, Kon was the hot one and somehow Tim was the sexy one. Kon had laughed at him for it as Tim was highly embarrassed and made it one of his life’s missions for this information to  _ never _ get into the hands of his evil, evil siblings. Just because he used a poll as a weapon doesn’t mean he got … ugh whatever, this is off point).

Tim entered the cave after a long debriefing with the league and was just honestly glad to be home again. He had trudged over to the changing rooms and took a shower, but by the time he got out he was too tired to train but still a little too wired to actually rest (well Alfred’s definition). Being stuck in a pocket dimension that slows time down would do that to you.

So he went over to the work bench, and to be fair, he and Bruce were the only ones who really used it. Even then, Bruce only went to just fix up broken gear, it was more of Tim’s work bench. If there was broken gear or something, the other members of the batfam would just drop it in what was so eloquently dubbed ‘ Timmy’s Repair Box’- by Dick and then the fixed box which was named ‘Replacement’s Repair Return’ - by Jason.

So yeah, Tim did all the techy stuff, just like Jason did all the theater stuff and Damian did all the art stuff. He doesn’t mind when people use his shop (it’s his domain, like everyone knows it, he holes himself in there to sulk when Bruce takes away his cases or when he’s had brain friedness due to a case to recharge and do mindless tinkering. It was his zombie ground as Steph called it, and he would most likly die there. He agreed.) to do small repairs, in fact it’s rather pleasant to have company when he’s tinkering. What he doesn’t expect is for his new little brother to be in the middle of a full upgrade sweep of his Signal armor. That most certainly was not a small repair...nor was it a simple upgrade either.

Tim’s nerd curiosity peaked and he silently jumped up to an empty table to watch his new little brother hard at work on doing a complicated rewiring. Assessing the material and handiwork. What? He was a nerd and this was an unfamiliar piece of technology since he was in space when the Signal armor was created by Lucius Fox (who is Tim’s tech nerd partner, they had pizza on Fridays and just talked tech while Tim was supposed to be in school). Damn that took a lot of effort.

“Huh, I thought your base mineral was aluminum.” Tim said casually and Duke jumped out of his seat, which Tim found amusing.

“Holy shit.” he breathed putting a hand to his chest, like some old woman. Tim’s mouth quirked a bit.

“Didn’t see that coming?” Tim smirked and Duke breathed a few times before turning fully with an irritated glare and then his eyes blew wide upon seeing him fully. Tim cocked his head at the frozen boy “What, have something on my face?” Had he already messed up? God, he was the arrogant absent brother who was always off with his friends or work now wasn’t he? He never had this problem with Damian, because Damian  _ wanted _ him gone. Duke wasn’t openly hostile to Tim, so he assumed he’s welcomed. What did it say about his life that his standard to people greeting him kindly just doesn’t involve his warranted death?

“Y-You’re Tim Drake.” Signal squeaked and Tim blinked once. 

“Yes, and you’re Duke Thomas.” he said back almost cautiously, moving his legs so they were in a crisscross instead of a crouch on the table.

“You know my name.” Duke whispered almost in awe and Tim didn’t know what this kid was mumbling about, but it was very intriguing. “Uh, What are- what are you doing here?” Duke asked casually, trying to be nonchalant and crossing his arms Tim gave a wolfish grin of amusement.

“Well, considering this is my shop, I’d be asking you that.” he said and the Duke’s eyes widened in horror as he turned quickly to pick his stuff up before Tim could stop him.

“I’m so sorry! Bruce said I could use this space… he said it was open to anyone and I just-” Tim hopped off the table and put a hand on Duke’s shoulder to stop him from gathering anymore of his armor. 

“Dude chill, I was joking. I work over there.” he pointed to the lab table that was a mess of wire and his boxes. Untouched since he left - which did  _ not _ make him smile on the inside, shut up. “It’s just usually no one else works here either, unless they are, you know freeloading off me and getting me to repair their shit.” he said. Duke’s shoulders sagged.

“Yeah, they’ve been asking me for tech requests while you were out.” Duke said with a fondly irritated sigh.

“They’re annoying, tell me if it’s bothering you.” Tim patted his shoulder awkwardly with a smile then looked over to the armor “Silicon?” he asked and then Duke snapped his head over to the armor.

“Uh yeah.” he said nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

“May I?” Tim gestured, Duke only nodded as Tim picked up a shoulder pad to inspect it. “Lithium enhancement?” he noted to himself.

“Mixed with nickel alloy too. I’m...not super flexible.” Duke said with a self deprecating laugh and Tim hummed, pleased. Sturdier then. Duke was a tactile heavy hitter, if the computer mainframes were anything to go by.

“Smart.” he said, gesturing to the dissected motherboard. “Rewiring to…?” It took Duke a minute before he scrambled for the answer.

“Oh! Database, I wanted to add a database. Kinda inspired by… the tech you uhm made for Robin.” Tim raised a brow “I mean from when you were Robin- I mean.. Ugh you know the one Robin has, that you use to have and..ohh is that a sore spot, no one would talk about it. It was a sore spot wasn’t it and-” Tim couldn’t help but smile a bit.

“Don’t worry about it.” He waved off with a light chuckle “It’s pretty cool to be an inspired source.” he said with a cheeky grin.

Duke looked down at the armor and bit his lip “I’m having a ...uhn bit of trouble though.” he furrowed his brows.

It took Tim all of three seconds to make a decision.

“Here let me show you.”

They worked for hours, time slipping by them as Duke excitedly told Tim his ideas that would be wasted on anyone else, because Tim catered the idas, making them realistic and possible. It was something he hadn’t had with Damian because of their differences and situation. But now? Tim felt...good? Teaching Duke how to improve his code, like Babs had taught him how to fight. But like he was on the other side of it.

Tim looked at the smiling boy who was writing his ideas down on the blueprint with an excused innocent look and then stood abruptly.

He didn’t even hear Duke call out for him as he headed out the door.

OoO

That’s all he was thinking when he detoured from his room out down the hall out the door to Drake manor, which was all but abandoned, looking more like a haunted mansion that was next door.

Escrima sticks. Make the escrima sticks smaller in length a bit thinner and then a harpoon like tip, glass and copper. Copper was flexible and glass was unbendable.  _ Sturdy. _

Duke had clunkier armor, so the cables would have a larger power input souce, making Duke’s weapon unbelievably strong.The feedback would double then triple and it would be powerful, but Duke would know how to use it right.

Attached by cable- no wait polysynthetic silicon with iron reinforcements. LED enforcers so that there could be an ultrawave sound discharge. Like Black Canary but just...mechanical and more concentrated. Mold breaks once, twice and the pouring of the third kind burns his lower palms. Blistering it but of course he doesn’t care.

This only took him 3 days, because he was in the techy mindset to begin with. 

He marched in just after lunch, all his siblings in the same room chilling in a little library nook of sorts. Laid out across the couch and floor, reading or playing video games or chatting quietly, when he sort of marched in and demanded attention as he made a beeline for a confused Duke.

He placed the clothed weapon in the boy’s lap and then stumbled back, just only being caught by Jason, who guided him down gently into his lap. 

Everyone watched in anticipation for the lastest of Tim’s arsenal. Duke uncovered it to be the attached escrima sticks, gently beaming a happy yellow-orange in their new wielder's hands. Duke looked in awe at the weapon as Dick squealed and Cass smiled.

The colour made Tim happy too.

“These are...mine?” Duke asked and Tim hummed, shutting his eyes as he laid on his second eldest brother’s lap, Jason stroked his hair.

“Timbo makes em from scratch.” Jason petted Tim’s hair.

“Is that why you weren’t worried when he kinda vanished off the face of the earth?” Duke asked, looking at all of them.

“That’s just a Tim thing.” Steph shrugged then winked with a little laugh.

“Aww Duke won.” Dick whined and Tim made an odd sound of questioning.

“You see there was a poll, who got a weapon sooner from you, Drake.” Damian explained “Duke got it within the first week of really meeting you, therefore he is the current winner.” Tim hummed in understanding.

He’s sure he’d make more weapons, open his forge everytime Bruce decided to adopt another child. Create another hero.

**_Isolation traded for belonging._ **

“Oh Tim?” Duke said and Tim hummed eyes still closed. “How do you use it?” 

“не знаю, это ваше оружие”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last sentence said "dunno it's your weapon" or something like that (I used google translate)
> 
> You all are the best, thanks for reading!! Love you all and stay safe!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me if you like this sort of thing, or if I should continue in this universe. I will edit this more later just gonna sleep for a bit and then get to it, but I hope you all enjoy this :) 
> 
> Thanks for Reading <3
> 
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> Twitter: @StarryKitty013  
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> I post about batfam stuff and also mini updates on this and other fics I'm working on!! (like how the next chapter is progressing or just things I'm generally excited for you to see or even sneak peaks and ART) I try to check it frequently. DM me anytime about anything!
> 
> See y'all next time :3


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